


these are the days

by Dogielder



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Amputation, M/M, Masturbation, Not Happy, Old Writing, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 15:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogielder/pseuds/Dogielder
Summary: 192 days after outbreak





	these are the days

**Author's Note:**

> this is old writing - posted originally on this account, i deleted it a while back and have decided to put it up again. i dont exactly remember what the title was originally

192 days after outbreak

they're hacking off his fucking arm.

porter can't even look, huddled in a corner, hands clamped over his mouth, his view of the dirty wallpaper blurred by tears. he's trying his best not to cry, because he knows that if dillon hears him he'd be even more scared.

not that he didn't have a right to be. 

all the monsters in the room have their heads bashed in, including the one that had taken a sizable chunk out of dillon's right arm. and porter's mind had gone blank, because there was no way dillon had gotten bitten, no way no way no way and anton's voice is coming from far away saying,

"we can cut the infected part off before it spreads, i can use my hatchet"

and dillon is panicking, the others trying frantically to help, and porter feels useless 

from behind him, anton's voice: "okay, you ready?"

dillon: a muffled yes from around the belt they had stuck in his mouth

wes: "jesus christ, just cut it off already!"

porter presses closer into the corner in the intense silence as anton raises the hatchet for the first blow

298 days after outbreak

they've seen more stars on this stumbling journey of theirs than porter even knew existed

they're camped out atop an apartment building, only four floors high but still a good vantage point. the wing they're seated atop is clear, at least, the doors that lead to the other half blocked off by someone before them with the groans of the monsters growing louder as they approached. 

it had held for this long, it could hold one more night

the apartments they chose were easy enough to pick: they had actual, real, beds, and even though they're dusty and someone else's it's still the best thing that's happened in the last few months. for once even joel can't complain about it 

hugo is a certified professional at naming stars and constellations. he seems to know where they all are and what they're called, the others having difficulty projecting imaginary lines up into the cosmos, but hugo is patient, choking back giggles when they mess up the names

hugo twists himself around, staring up into the heavens. "alright," he says, "surely you all see the big dipper, with the north star, right?" his tone has gone soft, the time for joking over

"there's a star just slightly down and to the left of the north star" hugo pauses. porter can swear he sees tears glittering in his eyes

then he sighs and continues, "that's part of the constellation errai, it- it was anton's favorite" hugo doesn't blink as a single drop slips down his face

"he said it looked like a house with legs"

and porter can't bear to look at the stars anymore

14 days after outbreak

dillon's parent's house is deserted, like they had just been snatched from their places without warning, no time to prepare or even scream. there's a stale cup of coffee sitting next to an open magazine at the table

and dillon looks terrified as he searches the house, terrified of what the silence means, terrified of why it all looks so untouched, terrified and trying not to show it lest he let it overflow

porter and anton trail slowly behind as dillon walks. their shoes thump on the hardwood, the noise loud enough for porter to cringe in the eerie silence. the photos on the walls are slightly more dusty than his mother would have liked, but instead of cleaning them, dillon is taking them all down, one by one, and shoving them in a large shipping envelope he had found

porter wishes he had the luxury of completing this ritual at his own family home

he can only imagine how anton must feel, across the country was bad enough but anton's home was across continents. 

the feeling in the air isn't fear, or even foreboding, just thick emptiness that seems to be worming its way into porter's skin, raking its lonely, dry fingers through his hair. it only grows when they're done with the first floor and dillon takes a deep breath before starting up the stairs

with each new door opened porter can feel the sadness rolling off of dillon grow ever stronger, knowing he'll find something inside but knowing all the outcomes are unfavorable

at the final door dillon stops with it open partway, enough to look inside but not for the others to see. he's gone rigid, face going pale and eyes growing shiny with tears. he stops, gripping tighter to the doorknob for a moment, before shutting it with a sound that means We will not be opening this door again.

"let's go" he says, and nothing more

they leave without checking the backhouse

240 days after breakout

they meet friendly figures and porter wants to cry.

it's on a major highway leading into okoboji, iowa, a pack of five or so people that were thankfully not shuffling erratically or turning their heads to sniff them out. in fact, the pack points excitedly and waves, and porter waves back, turning to the others because holy shit other people

they meet halfway, their obvious leader a woman they call michele, looking wary but still willing to help

"please, we just need a place to stay, for a little while" wes is begging without really begging, though michele's group must understand this feeling as well

"alright" she says "one night, and then we'll see" then she pauses, very obviously staring at where dillon's arm was "what are you fools doing with him? he's just dead weight"

(i know,) thinks dillon, (i've been trying to make them leave me behind but they won't)

porter challenges her with his stare "he's my boyfriend"

"he's virtually useless is what he is"

"well, he's ours, and we aren't leaving him behind"

(oh but you should leave me behind, she's right)

michele sighs and gives in. their safe haven is by a lake, a series of terraced houses that retired folk would inhabit. the outside shows no signs of humans, but porter knows that's the whole point. as it turns out, michele has a young son named alex, and porter doesn't think he's ever met a more bratty child

"hey, you, one-arm! yeah you. why'd you get it cut off? you have to use it for food? maybe they should have used the rest of you for food too, what's the use of someone with only one arm"

(even this kid knows how useless i am) 

strangely enough, michele says nothing

"michele, could you please tell your son to stop insulting my boyfriend?" porter is desperately hoping so, dillon was on the brink of tears and with one arm it was difficult to discreetly wipe them away

michele: "kids will be kids, porter"

alex: "dude, can you even eat by yourself? gotta be fed like a little baby? can you even go piss by yourself?"

porter watches in disgust as alex continues berating his partner, complaints to michele going unheard. eventually, what else was he to do? if nice porter couldn't get the job done, then mean porter would have to

"jesus fuck alex, can you shut your face for one second and not be a little shithole? if you don't stop im going to dropkick you straight into that lake myself, you hear me?"

finally an outburst from michele of "don't you dare talk to my son like that!"

a shrug from porter. "well im not sorry. you need to control your child better so it really isn't my fault"

"i should kick you all out for this" she pauses, takes a deep breath "one more incident like this and you're out of here. i don't care if it's midnight"

somehow, these people have managed to set up a shower with real, hot, running water. alex has kept his mouth shut so far, and nobody says anything when he and dillon shower together so porter can help. soap is minimal, but any still feels like a luxury. all that filth being scrubbed off feels like a rebirth, feeling better than they had in months. 

"i love you so much" and porter tries to take his hand

not the left hand, no. his right one, the one that dillon could feel clenched and painful but not do anything about it. oh no i hope he didnt notice- and dillon looks so hurt that porter suddenly feels like the shower did nothing to erase how disgusting he feels now

"dillon i- im so sorry"

"let's be done. the others are probably waiting"

that night they are allowed mattresses, albeit on the floor, but it was a mattress all the same. a soft spot to rest was hard to come by these days. amazingly, dillon and porter are given a room to themselves, a bedroom that could just barely fit the mattress and the two of them at the same time

when he lays down next to dillon, porter falls asleep almost immediately.

241 days after breakout

in this instance, porter's awakening does not equal the morning. instead, what rouses him is the noises. nothing bad was happening, no - he can hear dillon; the soft exhalations through his nose, moving fabric. when he opens bleary eyes and turns over to look at his partner, dillon has his hand around his dick. head thrown back. eyes shut tight.

at the sound of porter's movement, dillon opens his eyes, choking down a moan. his already frantic hand speeding up slightly. the expression he has isnt one of pleasure. porter doesnt know what to call it, but doesnt want to decipher it. he knows he would break his own heart if he tried to do so. 

"please porter i- i cant... please" dillon's eyes shine with desperation in the darkness. porter knows what hes asking for.

shifting, porter moves to face dillon fully, legs tangling together. they havent done anything like this in so long, and porter is already nearly fully hard as he presses his clothed erection against dillon's too sharp hip. dillon whimpers as porter pushes his hand away and replaces it with his own. the pace porter sets is just as fast as dillon kept it, the lack of lubricant more friction than could be comfortable. but that wasnt what dillon needed just then.

dillon lets his arm wrap tightly around porter instead. his nails dig into porter's side; pressing harder as dillon swallows his gasps every time porter tightens his fingers around his cock for a moment. meanwhile, porter is rutting against dillon's hip, just as desperate and erratic as the handjob. 

they used to have time for this sort of thing. they used to be able to lounge in bed for hours, kissing that evolved into grinding and hands wrapped around erections, before they came and it devolved into kissing once more. light shone through the windows and made dillon's eyes a brilliant blue. now they just stayed sick tornado green no matter what.

porter cums with a sob, rocking into dillon's shudders as he cums too, thin and hot dripping down porter's fist. he buries his face into dillon's chest, the thin fabric darkening with his tears. 

porter is vaguely aware that dillon has started crying too. he tightens his arm around porter until the closeness is almost unbearable. porter cant complain

instead, he squeezes his eyes until he sees swimming colors and hopes that when he opens them this will all be a dream


End file.
